Old Number Seven
by Slightly Ghostly
Summary: Thank God for Cas. Who gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition. Well, maybe not God, seeing as he seems to have taken a rather permanent vacation, the bastard. Old Number Seven, The Devil Makes Three. Song Fic!


**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Supernatural or the song, Old Number Seven!**

**Any mistakes are mine!**

**Old Number Seven**

When looking back on his life, Dean knows that it could have turned out been better. He knows he could have helped out more, worked harder on his school work, taken care of Sammy better, convinced him to stay, but would he really change anything? If he had the chance to, would he change the events that lead to now, with his brother and his bitchin' car, on the road and taking on the family business? No, he didn't think he could. Sure, things weren't the greatest, with the apocalypse and all, but things could be worse… right?

Yes. They could be. He could still be in hell, torturing souls with Alistair lurking over his shoulder at every moment. The memories of the screams and the pleas still haunt him, all day and night. Not that he would ever admit that. Thank God for Cas. Who gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition. Well, maybe not God, seeing as he seems to have taken a rather permanent vacation, the bastard. And yet, he still had the trust and love and devotion of all the angels in heaven. Dean looked down at his whiskey when he felt a small tingling of pity and sadness start somewhere in him, blaming his new-found fondness of the angels on the smokey alcohol.

Shockingly, it didnt bother Dean as much as it probably should have, most likely another side effect to being halfway wasted. He took another pull of his drink, reveling in the burn that spread through his throat. He just didn't give a shit any more. So what if he thought that the angels had a pretty sucky parent/guardian situation? It was obvious he could relate, his childhood reflecting theirs perfectly and earning him the lucky spot as Michael's vessel. That didn't mean he hated them and their semi-evil-with-good-intentions ways any less than he did before, he just knew why they acted the way they did… kinda.

"Dean." When the voice slid over Dean's skin like gravel on glass, he shivered, finally convinced he need to lay off the drinks if he was hallucinating, _already_, but a hand pulled out the barstool next to him, and with a swirl of trench coat, Castiel was sitting next to him, looking grave, as always.

"Cas." He replied, looking at him from the corner of his eye and taking a drink of his Jack Daniels, now reassured that he was not, in fact, hallucinating. Cas looked good. Or as good as an Angel of the Lord could get when struggling to find the said AWOL Lord and trying to terminate the impending apocalypse all at once. His, _Jimmy's_, hair was not styled, as per usual, but still made Dean want to thread his finger through it, _like a girl_. His disheveled, holy tax accountant get up looked no different than the last time the two had talked. His long trench coat almost reaching his knees and his navy suit and white dress shirt had its usual burns and scratches, his tie was turned around and twisted; over all there was no difference to his apparel from the first time Dean had meet Cas in that barn. What caught Dean's eye, and held them where the too-large-and-white-to-be-real wings that were suddenly visible to him. He took an almost frantic, albeit fuzzy and dizzy, glance around the bar, watching for the shocked and incredulous looks Cas should have been receiving. There were none. Calmer, but still pissed off at being caught off guard, he grabbed Cas' arm and threw two twenties on the bar. Most likely too much, he knew, but at the moment he didn't give a shit. As he pulled them out into the frigid air, he could almost feel Castiel's confusion vibrating through his body.

After refusing to be Angel-ported back to the motel and instead driving the Impala there, Dean opened the door to the room him and Sam had rented out for the last week. He pulled Cas inside, closing the door behind him. He stared at the giant wings for a few minutes imagining the feel of the thick, downy feathers between his finger, the strong muscles shifting and straining… he physically jerked his head out of those thoughts, causing Castiel to scrunch his eyebrows together in confusion.

"Why can I see them?" He blurted, nervous. Cas gave his signature head tilt, eyebrows coming closer together.

"See what, Dean?"

"Your wings!" He exclaimed. Cas looked very startled by this then started to blush, his feathers visibly ruffled. Dean huffed a small laugh at his own joke. "Seriously though, why can I see them?"

"I don't know." His bleak answer gave Dean no confidence that he was telling the truth.

"Cas." He stated, putting a small bit of force into his words. Castiel sighed.

"It seems I have… formed a connection to you." He said.

"Yes, Cas, thanks for the specifics." Dean snorted.

"You are very welcome, Dean." Cas's deadpan response solidified a fact Dean had already been aware of; Castiel spent too much time with the Winchesters. "All I know is that an angels wings are only visible when they are with someone they trust immensely. What kind of bond is undeterminable. You probably can't even see the real wings, seeing as it would kill you." Castiel stated this so nonchalantly that it was a bit disturbing.

"I need another drink." Dean muttered, grabbing a half empty bottle from the counter and taking a gulp. He eyed Cas out of the corner of his eye, taking in his slight stubble, unruly hair, and of course, those bigass wings. It seems that what it always came down to tonight. Way too tired to actually think anymore, he downed the whole rest of the bottle, then grabbed another half full one and opened it.

"You know, you probably shouldn't…" Castiel's words were cut off by Dean's pulling him on to the bed and shoving him down then crawling on to the bed himself, bottle and all. he knew he was in no way being at all rational, but, as mentioned, he just didn't give a shit anymore.

"Shut up Cas. We'll talk about it in the morning. All I want to do now is just fall asleep." Without any warning at all, he collapsed on top of Cas, using his chest as a head rest.

"Thank you Jack Daniels." He drunkenly slurred before falling into a dead sleep, every worry disappearing, replaced with bottles and massive wings.

**Now, like any author should, I realize I wont be able to please everyone with this fic, but I hope I can please some of you!**

**For those of you I didn't please, comment! What can I do better? **

**Again, I own nothing!**

**Love you all,**

**Slightly Ghostly Lynn**


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